Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [95]
“Smells like we’re getting close to the kitchen,” Foryth noted. Danyal, too, had detected the odor of rotting garbage, though he hadn’t made the same connection.
Sure enough, they saw the shadowy outline of a small doorway in the base of the manor’s wall. Below the aperture was a steep section of the mountainside, where clearly the cooks simply threw out whatever leftover food and other waste made its way to the great house’s kitchen. A noise of scurrying and chattering startled the intruders, and it didn’t help them to relax when they realized that the sounds came from dozens of rats, who scraped and scrabbled over the rancid pile of refuse.
Danyal was starting to look around for some sign of a guard when Foryth walked boldly up to the door and reached for the latch. His heart pounding, Dan tensed, expecting an alarm or challenge.
Instead, the door opened with a soft creak, revealing a large room that was dimly lit by the glow of fading embers. Scuttling forward, the lad joined the historian in stepping hesitantly into the stronghold of Kelryn Dare-wind.
The kitchen smelled of soot and grease. In the dim light, they saw large counters, a great stack of pots, and a brick fireplace that held the still-glowing coals.
“Where would she be?” Foryth wondered. “It’s a big house, after all.”
“Kelryn told us he had a dungeon, remember? I think we should look on the lowest level we can find.”
“Makes sense,” the historian agreed. “Should we split up?”
Danyal shook his head firmly, and not just because he didn’t want to be left alone in the place. “There’s twice as much chance of us getting discovered if we’re in two different places,” he pointed out. Foryth nodded in apparent agreement.
The kitchen door was a massive barrier of iron-strapped oak, but the hinges were well oiled, and the door opened with barely a whisper of sound. They stepped onto a woolen carpet that lined a wide hallway, with several doors visible in the dark-paneled walls to either side. A pair of candles, each set in a wall sconce, provided wan illumination through the wide, high-ceilinged corridor.
To the left, the hallway expanded, then turned a corner. Dan caught a glimpse of long tapestries hanging down from the top of the lofty walls, and he remembered Kelryn mentioning works of art that he had commissioned to display the glories of Fistandantilus. The brightest lights he had seen came from that direction, so Danyal decided, logically enough, to go the other way. He reasoned that the dungeon would be remote from the main gathering halls and dwelling rooms of the manor.
He passed several doors that were smaller than the kitchen door, fitted with brass hinges that had been polished to golden brightness. Continuing his process of deduction, he concluded that these, too, would be unlikely to lead to the dingy underground chambers he was imagining. After a dozen steps, the corridor curled around a curving stone wall; here he found a sturdy iron-strapped door.
“This is the base of the tower,” Foryth whispered, gesturing to the rounded wall. “The door probably leads to a stairway that goes up.”
“How do you know that?” wondered Dan, incredulous.
“I merely marked the location when we were outside,” the historian said modestly.
“Such a mass of stone has to have a foundation on the ground. And this is it.”
Realizing that the historian was probably right, Danyal continued on, finding flagstones under his feet now instead of the carpet. Shortly he found still another door, this one also banded with iron, and when he put his face to the frame, he caught the scent of mold and dampness.
His heart quickening, he turned to tell Foryth of his observation, but he saw no sign of the historian! Near panic, Dan padded back along their tracks.
The door that was in the base of the manor tower was open a crack, though the lad knew it had been closed when they first passed it. He could only assume